


A Homunculus' Heart (My Dearest Mother)

by AlyaRayne



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003)
Genre: Character Study, Darkfic, Other, Pseudo-Incest, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-09
Updated: 2014-10-09
Packaged: 2018-02-20 13:27:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2430470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyaRayne/pseuds/AlyaRayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘What would you have me go by, Master?’ he asked, a mocking edge to his higher pitched voice. Master’s glare deepened and she uttered one word. One brand that would last for the next four hundred years. </p><p>Envy</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Homunculus' Heart (My Dearest Mother)

__Here's a lullaby to close your eyes (goodbye)  
It was always you that I despised  
I don't feel enough for you to cry (oh well)  
Here's a lullaby to close your eyes (goodbye)  
Goodbye...   
Goodbye... 

 

 _I am not him…_ Her hair was soft against his skin, but it felt as rough as sand. _Stop! I don’t want this!_ It was almost like she knew. _But you want me to love you, don’t you?_ He would pause, blinking up into dark eyes, so lost as she sank down onto him, her kisses hot and wrong. She would pull away clothes that she had dressed him in, and then he would feel her, wet, soft, warm, horrible. He would shudder, and she would smile. _Yes, my dear. You have always loved this._ But it wasn’t him she was talking to, it was that bastard, the one who had run away. She would move then, pulling off only to sink back down onto him. Again he would shudder, feeling her wetness coat him, drench him in agony. He would writhe, only to be pushed back down, reminded that all he had to do was make her happy, like he used to, and then she would love him again. He would still after that, let her do whatever she wanted, let her use the body that wasn’t even his, and as soon as she was done she would sleep, wrapped in arms that she had arranged, and he would sob quietly. Then, once morning came, he would once again be expected to be himself. Still blonde, still tall, but this time not husband. No this time, he would be called Son.

 

As the years passed and Mother changed forms again, he would learn to take her as she wanted. To shove her down and do everything she screamed for without cringing. He would learn what it meant to hate, to want all the things he didn’t have, and loathe those who did have it. He learned that when she called him that wretched name, he was meant to respond with tender words and affection. When she called for her son, he was meant to love her as a child, to dote on her and call her Mother. Then, one day, she sent him away. Told him that there was another child being made and he had to find them.

It had taken him months to find her. Months of searching and shape-changing. He had returned to her with red hair and pale skin and she had hit him, claiming that he was not her son. It had been years since he cried, years since he had cared, and yet he was still her son.

She had named the girl Lust, took her in and healed her, giving the girl the same red stones that she gave to him, and it was then that he knew that they were far more connected than he could ever be to Mother. He had talked to the girl, had gotten to know her, and Mother had grown to hate her. She had yelled at him, called him a traitor. She had hit him when he had tried to turn into the bastard, screaming at him _‘You should have made a better son. One who wouldn’t fall for a whore._ ’ He ran then, back to the girl, away from his mother, but she had followed. Lust had tried to help, seeing how upset he was, but Mother had hurt her, shown her something that he had given her. A small, torn piece of a dress.

She had then gone to Lust, petting her even as Lust flinched away from her. _‘You are not my son.’_ she had said, her voice soft, _‘You are nothing more than another of his mistakes. Change forms, I’m tired of looking at this one.’_ Glaring, his heart breaking slowly, he had, his blonde hair fading to black, his height shrinking, his eyes going from gold to violet, his skin from tan to white. He felt his teeth sharpen and bared them at her. _‘Is this better, Mother!’_ he spat, rage pouring into his damaged heart.

 _‘I am no mother to you. You will call me Master, and no longer are you to keep that damned name you have been masquerading under.’_ She glared as if he had stolen the name, and not been ordered to use it.

 _‘What would you have me go by, Master?’_ he asked, a mocking edge to his higher pitched voice. Master’s glare deepened and she uttered one word. One brand that would last for the next four hundred years.

_Envy_

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this a really long time ago after I finished watching FMA 2003, but lost it in the deep dark recesses of my computer. It started when I was sorting pictures while listening to my Ipod, and then a picture of Envy popped up at the same time as Room of Angel from Silent Hill started playing. This story just sort of happened as a result. I hope you like it! Now crossposted to Tumblr: http://alyarayne.tumblr.com/post/106094504343/a-homunculus-heart-my-dearest-mother


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